What do you mean it is all over, Santa?

I don’t think this is humane. Santa, the elves and the rest of the Christmas gang cannot just dump us and disappear. After two months of an almost exclusive relationship, Christmas abandons our lives leaving us in full January dread. No fairy lights, no cosiness and optimism, no calorie-free chocolates (everybody knows that the Christmas magic prevents fat from being accumulated), no compulsory shopping (as if I needed an excuse…), nothing to look forward to (and Valentine’s day doesn’t count). Nothing at all. Unacceptable.

But at least this year I have a partner in defiance. My daughter and I are still singing Jingle Bells, We wish you a Merry Christmas and all other merry songs: at home, in the street, we don’t care. We look and point at the corner of the flat where the Christmas tree used to stand and quietly sigh. Then we proceed to draw and paint Christmas scenes and decorations. We are already counting the days to next year’s festivities. She is learning that no matter how many times a man tries to get away from you, you just keep going after him, relentlessly. He will change his mind at some point. Santa is no exception.

This pigheadedness is the reason she came into this world. And now she is a tiny Emotionally Incompetent disciple. There was no way I could find one: I had to make her.

The dark side of a fat moon

As I was lying in bed this morning, gently squeezing a japenourmous headache out of my brain, I tried to distract my aching neurons with some pointless thinking. For instance, I realised that the majority of my friends and valuable work connections are the ones I made either as a student or in the early years of my career. There are probably various reasons for this: the camaraderie of the rookies against the system (before the system is actually represented by us), the possibility (if not the expectation) of asking for help and supporting each other (without looking like a weakling who cannot sort their shit out), the hopes and dreams fuelling the positive optimism that makes you a person people do want to hang out with, and the lack of a family outside the walls of your office to run to at night.

This train of thought unearthed the memory of the one who got away, of the university friend who disappeared after I made an idiotic, thoughtless and prejudiced comment. Issue is, in our culture, thinness is considered beautiful, it is acceptable and never frowned upon. We would never dream of calling someone “too fat”, not to their face at least; but we consider “too thin” to be a compliment. And so I did. When we stopped for a coffee, I could not refrain from commenting on her need for at least a muffin or a cookie as she was way, way too thin. My conditioned brain did not consider for a moment that she was probably going through some very tough times, that she was suffering from an eating disorder. I thought I was paying her a compliment. Had she invited me to put down the triple soya latte for some green tea because my aging arse was getting way out of control, I would have recoiled in horror, accusing her of body shaming me. Only, I was doing exactly the same. She never spoke to me again. As I tried to reconnect, emails bounced back, Facebook and LinkedIn were silent. Sometimes I wonder if she is actually well.

As I lie down in bed next to my daughter, I commit to never call her either thin or fat. Only healthy. Because that is all I hope she ever is.